The Way Things Were
by IAmTheWeinerx3
Summary: Stella Klaine is on a mission to reunite with her brother. Everything changes when she hears about a plan that no one was supposed to know about. Now her priority is to alert the Flock in time. The question is: Is there enough time?
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything other than Stella C:**

Stella P.O.V.

Have you ever felt trapped? Like you're just stuffed into a metal cage, locked up, and have nothing left but the emptiness inside of yourself, and the longing to be free of the chains that tie you down? Well, I have. And I mean that literally.

My name is Stella Klaine, and for thirteen years I've lived a life that should have never been lived. To this very day, I live the life of an experiment, who knows every last detail about her family, and knows that they have no idea about her.

I live a life knowing that I'm locked up in a cage, while my messed up mother attends a college party.

Knowing that my father left us for some red-head in a dark denim mini-skirt, and is now happily raising a family with her, with no memory of me.

Knowing that my older brother and fellow experiment Christopher escaped with five other experiments, without knowledge of my existence.

Knowing that I'm stuck at the School as a lab rat, with no one to save me but myself.

Aren't I just living in luxury right now?


	2. Chapter 1

Max P.O.V.

I stared at the kitchen table in horror. There on a large, round, white plate were two chocolate chip cookies, surrounded by a scatter of cookie crumbs, and a note. A simple, small, folded up note that read "Max" on the front in my mom's neatest handwriting.

_Dear Max_, it read._ I'm sorry this isn't your usual batch of cookies, but the Flock sort of beat you to the table. Plus, you looked so peaceful sleeping; I didn't have it in me to wake you. I've taken them and Ella to the beach for a bit, and we should be home by five o'clock. And don't worry, I'll be sure to make you your own personal batch of cookies when we get back. Love, Mom_

Now, I'm not the type of birdkid that gets upset over things like…not having a batch of warm, fresh-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies that my mom makes but—oh, who am I kidding? Right now, I've got a mix of emotions bubbling up inside of me, and the only thing I'm really thinking is "MY COOKIES!"

Sure, it sounds kind of stupid. Why would I, Maximum Ride, care so much about cookies? Well, seriously, have you TASTED these? They melt in your mouth! It's heaven on earth!

I glanced at the clock. 4:45PM. Okay, so that just meant it was about another twenty five more minutes. That's not too long. Just another almost half an hour…

_Tick-tock, tick-tock_…I stared at the clock, anxiously awaiting five o'clock to come. _Tick-tock, tick-tock_…Still 4:34PM…_Tick-tock, tick-tock_…

That's it. This clock mocking me isn't making me anymore patient. I've watched my mom make cookies enough times. How hard could it possibly be?

I took out all the ingredients and stole a quick glance at the clock after scouring the kitchen for utensils from drawers and such. 4:39 PM. Why did time have to be so slow?

"Okay, so all I have to do is…" I looked blankly at the ingredients and utensils. Huh. And I thought this was going to be easy. "Well…maybe if I put the eggs…" So I cracked open some eggs and, well…I guess I could say I don't have the best aim.

Staring down at the egg on the floor, I reached for the paper towels while bending down to wipe it up. And you know what I'd managed to knock over while grabbing the paper towels? The flour.

I screeched as the bag of flour toppled over and crashed, opened, onto my head, spilling out everywhere; on the floor, on my shirt, in my hands, and in my hair. Okay, so maybe it _was_ that hard. Well, if I just clean it up, they'll never have to know—

"Max, what _happened_?" My mom, Dr. Martinez, demanded, eyes widening every second she took in the image of this scene. I'd been so preoccupied with my own thoughts I hadn't noticed her come in; or _anyone_ for that matter.

"I was…well…" I bit my lip and felt some color crawl to my cheeks when the Flock came into view, which made it worse. You know why? Because Maximum Ride _does not_ blush. And that's exactly what she was doing right now.

"What happened in here?" Angel asked in a quiet voice, her blue eyes wide, still not as wide as my mom's, who was still waiting for an answer. Her innocent face seemed to be twisted with emotions at the moment.

"Yeah, Max, it looks like a tornado tore through here," Nudge commented, and for once, she seemed somewhat speechless. She pushed her dark, corkscrew brown hair out of her face, still awestruck with what a mess I'd made.

"It's messy," the Gasman, or Gazzy, pointed out. You'd think he'd have the same reaction as everyone else, but he just seemed to be searching for a visable bomb.

Since Iggy couldn't see, he stood there with his brows furrowed in both frustration and confusion. He seemed to be squinting at what everyone else was staring at, but I knew, feeling my stomach turn, that he only saw blackness. "What? What did she do?"

Fang, on the other hand, could see everything clearly and was, so far, the only one who hadn't said anything. He just stood there with his arms crossed, and a smirk on his face.

"Did you try to bake?" Fang grinned at me, and it took me a moment to recognize he was actually speaking, or grinning. Because not only did Fang keep his mouth shut most of the time, he showed a lack of emotion. To get a grin from him, something incredibly stupid had to happen. I guess you could say I looked like an idiot right now.

My mom was the next person to speak. "Max, sweetheart…couldn't you have just waited for me?" And she laughed a little. And then they _all_ laughed; more than a little.

"Fang, can you help Max clean up? I'm just going to run out to the store and buy some more ingredients." She laughed a bit again and then turned to the Flock, while Fang walked over to me. I vaguely heard her say to them, "Who wants to come and buy more snacks?"

I brushed the majority of stuff off of me and straightened up. "I didn't know you were _this_ good in the kitchen," Fang smirked, passing by me and tossing me a roll of paper towels.

"We're cleaning up the kitchen…with paper towels?" I stared at the roll in my hand.

"Do you have a better idea?" He turned on the sink and ran some water on a few folded up paper towels, and knelt on the floor, wiping up some flour and egg. Shrugging, I followed his example and knelt across from him, doing the same.

"All this for cookies, huh?" he smirked at me, eyeing the kitchen. I didn't respond and kept cleaning. And he was silent for the rest of our little clean-up time.


	3. Chapter 2

**I do not own anything but Stella, sadly. :c I forgot to mention that last chapter. LOL oh well.**

**R&R? :3**

Stella P.O.V.

The silence that followed the darkness of the room was louder than anything I've ever heard. It was louder than the Erasers' angry growls, than the white coat yells; louder than the begging of innocent children sentenced to this prison, and louder than my heart while it's thumping against my chest and threatening to break out and run.

If only my heart could do that…if only _I_ could do that. I've ached to break through this cage's metal bars and soar out of here, free, and able to live like a normal teenager. Too bad "normal" is something I'll never be.

I ran my fingers through the knots in my hair, trying to untangle them. It's not bad enough that I'm locked up in a _cage_, but I can't take a shower, change my clothes, or do anything to clean up.

Giving up at some point, I leaned against one of the walls of my cage, the icy metal cooling my back. I hugged my knees to my chest and rested my head there. It had been a long day, but by the daylight outside before I came in, it wasn't over yet.

Didn't those inconsiderate, [insert swear here] white coats _care_ that they'd worn their main test subject out all week? Couldn't they just give me a break and a decent meal? 'Cause, I mean, sure I'd still hate it here but I wouldn't be so…what's the word? Reluctant. I might actually go along with what they want for a little bit. But since no one on this earth could possibly find one nice bone in these idiots' bodies, then that's probably a far off hope or dream…

"I want Subject 91. NOW," a clear, deep voice ricocheted off of the cages and walls of the room. I groggily lifted my head out of my arms and glanced through the metal bars at a white coat, standing in the doorway of the room. Shadows were creeping across objects and I heard low grumbling of obvious annoyance. There were shrieks, and I found myself curling up into a far corner of my cage, knowing they were coming for me.

"Where's 91?" a scratchy voice muttered some thirty feet away. A cage door opened and I heard another sound of protest. "Well?" It said, impatiently. "Where is it?"

_It_, I thought to myself, scowling slightly. _Nice. Thanks for calling me an object or something._ I had been so preoccupied with filling my head with insults that I hadn't noticed my cage door open.

A cruel, disgusting face of an Eraser smiled at me, a glint of excitement in his eyes. (See? I don't call him an "it"!) "Found you," he said simply and shot his arm into the cage. I darted around as much as I could in the cramped space and avoided the claws that were reaching for me.

"Come on," he continued to smile, "Don't be stubborn." A second hairy arm shot in and I struggled to stay away. Soon enough, he'd caught me around the waist, creating wounds by pressing his sharpened claws against my flesh. "Aha!" he smirked, dragging me out.

"Let me go!" I screeched, attempting to thrash around and throw a few punches.

"Grab it," I vaguely heard the mutt instruct, and felt more claws against the skin at my ankles. The Eraser holding me around the waist quickly caught my wrists so that they were carrying me like a log or something.

I cried out in pain and continued to struggle, battling against the Erasers; it was one battle I knew I couldn't win. You see, if we were actually battling each oher off, I'd win for sure. But when I'm being dragged out of my cage against my will…well, that's a different story.

"We just want to talk," the white coat tsk-ed at me and signaled something to the Erasers carrying me. "Go get her cleaned up; if she gets too hard to handle, you know what to do."

"As you wish, sir," they droned and started carrying me off. This caused me to struggle, what? Ten times more? And I lost some more blood.

"He just wants to talk," one of them growled at me, "so just quit it, kid. We aren't gonna hurt you."

"Sure you're not," I snorted, still struggling. "Just like you haven't tried to kill every test subject you've ever been put up against!"

"…those were on the director's orders. Whether you believe it or not, I prefer _not_ to hurt a group of kids. Now, since you're not cooperating, I'm going to have to inject you with some fluid. You'll probably be knocked out for say…half an hour?" He said.

"What? No!" I threw myself in different directions, only to feel a pinch in my arm. When I glanced at it, I saw a needle being drawn away. And that was the last thing I saw.


	4. Chapter 3

**I only own precious Stella :D ;; not MR or the characters, etc.**

**R&R**

Max's P.O.V.

"Thanks again for the cookies, mom." I grinned at my mom, who smiled in return and took the empty tray away, setting it in the sink.

"You're welcome, Max. Just…promise me you won't ever try to bake again?" She shot me a look and I just laughed.

"I promise."

I jumped over the back of the couch and landed next to Nudge, who was flipping through channels on tv. "What're we watching?" I asked. And guess what? Asking that question was a _big_ mistake.

"You know, Max, that's a good question! Because we've been trying to find something on tv ever since Dr. M started making cookies, but nothing good's on! I mean, sure, Disney has stuff like 'Wizards of Waverly Place' and stuff, but the guys won't watch Disney! They want to watch something like 'CSI', except Angel shouldn't be watching that and I don't want Gazzy to get any ideas—" Nudge started on one of her infamous rants.

"Nudge!" Gazzy, Fang, Iggy, Angel, and I yelled.

"—from the shows so, wait huh?" She looked at us blankly and then blushed. "Oh, sorry, guys! I just wanted to explain to Max why we couldn't watch antmmm." Nudge eyed the hand against her mouth and then looked up at me through her eyelashes.

"Are you done?" I asked after a few seconds, and took my hand back when she nodded. "Here's an idea; why don't you guys all watch a show down here, Nudge and Angel go upstairs and watch 'Waverly Wizards in the Place' or whatever it's called, and I'll just go to my room and listen to music. How does that sound?"

"Okay!" Nudge and Angel quickly agreed and raced upstairs to their room.

"Thanks, Max," Iggy nodded at me, which was followed by Fang and Gazzy murmuring a thanks, too.

"No problem," I answered, and got off of the couch. "Just…not too much violence or bombing, alright? We really don't need you guys getting any ideas."

They all nodded distantly, fighting over the remote. I rolled my eyes and disappeared into my room.


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything but Stella. Unfortunately. :C**

**Stella's P.O.V.**

I wasn't quite sure where I was, or what had just happened, but even though I could have sworn I was in a dream, I kept my mouth shut when I heard voices. Because only a stupid person wouldn't have done that.

"Paul, she can't do this. You can't make her. First of all, they _can't_ be terminated; they're the best we've ever made. Second, she's thirteen-years-old, and she's your niece. You can't possibly consider…" I recognized the voice to be a chick white coat that was trying to clean me up while I was fading in and out of consciousness, and I realized that I wasn't dreaming. And something serious was going on. And it had to do with me, Maximum Ride, Chris, and those other experiments.

"Jenna, I haven't considered anything because it's settled. Stella is _going_ to complete this mission whether she likes it or not." The guy talking was the white coat who forced me out of my cage earlier, if I'm thinking clearly.

"She's your _niece_, Paul. Don't you even care that they could kill her?" Jenna—apparently—cried. Something hit me like a slap in the face when I heard her, and it wasn't the part that I could die and this guy couldn't care less. It's that this guy who couldn't care less was my uncle, and, if I'm correct, he wants me to find my brother and his group just to let them get killed.

There was a pause and then Paul, or Uncle Paul, or whoever the hell he was, spoke to the girl with sharp, harsh words. "And I'm your boss. What I say goes, Mrs. Aenolee, and whether you like it or not, you have to deal with it." There was a change in mood that floated through the air when he added quietly, "Plus, it's the Director's orders. Even if I don't agree, I don't make all the calls here, so it's none of my business what he decides."

"Paul…everyone else is gone. She's all you have left. Once they rid of him, they'll get rid of her, too. Are you sure you can deal with that? Losing someone again?" Jenna asked softly, and I felt like she actually cared. I mean…I knew she did.

"Go check and see if she's awake." He ordered, ignoring her last few comments, and I heard her shuffle across the room. Soon after, I felt her gently shaking me.

"Hmm?" I groaned groggily, because I was still tired.

"They must have given you some pretty strong drugs there," she said lightly, helping me sit up. "You've been out for two hours. Almost three."

I looked across the room at the guy who I assumed was Paul. He stood there, about five foot ten, with brown hair that looked nothing like mine or Chris's and was graying more and more every second. He wore a white coat, obviously, with a plain white t-shirt underneath and faded blue jeans. He had a hard look on his face, trying to look serious, but when I looked into his milk chocolate brown eyes—that, again, looked nothing like mine or Chris's—, they were soft and showed love that not even a father could express.

Jenna glanced between me and Paul, until one of us said something. Of course, that someone was me. "Who are you guys?" I stared directly at Paul, of course. He scratched at his chin where little black and gray stubbles of hair were poking out, and I figured he really needed to shave when he got home.

Just as Jenna had open her mouth to say something, Paul interrupted, never letting his eyes leave me. "Jenna was just leaving. Would you like some food? I'm sure your hungry." He gestured to the tray on the little coffee table in front of me. I had to admit, I felt bad that the chick white coat looked so disappointed, but my thoughts were easily overtaken by the thought of food, and it just smelled so good…

"Is this your office?" I asked innocently, peeking around while poking at my food and making sure he didn't put anything in it before I choked it all down.

"Don't worry, Stella. I didn't put anything in it." Paul said gently, and I'm not sure why, but I believed him, and began to stuff my first forkful of chicken breast and mashed potatoes and corn into my mouth; how I managed to fit so many different types of food onto one fork, I'll never know. "And yes, this is my office. What do you think? Too much?" When I glanced up, Paul had uncrossed his arms and gestured to the filled space of the room.

The walls were a kind of misty blue-ish/gray color and it was a mix of emotions. There was an oak wood desk in the far right corner of the room, and a bookshelf along the wall next to it. His office must have been underground, because there was a tiny window in a top corner of the room, by his desk, and a few nice, comfy chairs were placed neatly in the room. I was sitting on a cream-colored sofa and he had a nice, probably somewhat cheap-ish coffee table. There were a few black lamps in the room, and I can't really describe it in an orderly way, but it was…nice. It kind of reminded me of what I imagined home to be.

"It's…comfortable," I decided on, and kept eating, not looking up at him. Paul's eyes were burning into me, but it wasn't an uncomfortable feeling. It just made me sure that he was pondering on what he should say next, and that he cared enough not to come right out with it.

After a few minutes, when I had finished eating, he spoke up. "Stella, may I have a word with you?" His voice was quiet and careful, as if he were afraid I were easily broken glass.

"Well, you forced me in here, didn't you? I mean, you did drug me and all _just_ to get me here so that you could talk." That's right, Stella, don't let your walls down. And I could have sworn I caught Paul wince a little.

"Right…" he said after a short pause. "I apologize about that. It's just…you're so much like your father that I figured you wouldn't want to speak to me. And your mother's side of you contributes to my decision, as well."

"You don't know anything about my parents." I spat, and avoided wincing. The look this guy got in his eyes…it made me sick to my stomach that I was acting like this.

He sighed and regained composure, but I could still read him like an open book. "Actually, I do. I know more about them than you think, Stella. You know how?" There was a pause. "Because I'm your father's fraternal twin."

**I bet you didn't expect that. ;3 **

**R&R?**


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything but Stella. **

**Stella's P.O.V.**

_Because I'm your father's fraternal twin brother_. The statement echoed in my mind like someone yelling into the Grand Canon.

Nobody really knows anything about my dad. Just me, my mom, and Paul. And when I really think about everything I know about my dad, and all his characteristics and appearances, I can't believe I couldn't have guessed that Paul was my uncle.

But maybe that's just because he's one of the white coats that's been keeping me from my family since I wasn't even a day old.

Paul looked at me, searching for some sort of emotion. Something I inherited from my dad, just like my brother had inherited, was being able to stay emotionless, even at the most emotion-filled moments. Like now. Like when I found out that I had an uncle. And that I'd known him all my life. And that nobody ever told me because they probably thought I'd become attached or something.

Except, I wouldn't. I don't think.

"Stella, I'm your uncle Paul, and you're my niece. And Chris is my nephew. Daniel's my brother. Theresa was supposed to be my sister-in-law." He said softly, reaching out to me. I pulled away as a reflex.

"No." I said, wanting to deny it. I kept my voice even and emotionless, but I was feeling my walls break down and I fought to keep them up. "A monster like you could _never_ be my uncle."

Something flashed across his face—something like pain—but again, he composed himself and reached out for me. I stared into his eyes, regretting it at that second, because I felt my face twist into a mix of emotions that couldn't be read.

"Stella, please," he begged. "Don't pull away." And Paul meant it. I could tell.

I let him hug me and I just stayed there, awkward, and frozen.

How could my uncle be the same person who wants to get me and my brother killed?


End file.
